Temporal
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Pietro Maximoff does not completely trust SHIELD; he is intrigued by Darcy Lewis.


_**Disclaimer:** I own nothing._

 _ **Author Note:** Set after 'The Avengers: Age of Ultron'. Makes changes to a bit of canon though. Spoilers._

* * *

 **TEMPORAL**

Pietro could not believe that this was home now. He had woken in a white room, doctors bending over him, their voices muffled, but Wanda had been there too, a vivid familiar splash of blood-red. Their world had always been gray and dark; it had always contained each other.

Wanda had saved him, of course she had. Wanda could do anything. Now they lived in the heart of SHIELD, training with those who had been their enemy. But SHIELD had helped save the people of Sokovia, they had not been intent on destroying the world as Ultron had. They had taken Wanda and Pietro in and had not locked them in cages. This was home now.

Perhaps it was a different kind of cage. There was so much glass and many soldiers with guns who watched Pietro and Wanda. It was few of them that viewed the Maximoff twins with anything other than suspicion. They found Pietro's speed unnerving and Wanda's gift something to fear.

But these were not enemies anymore. Once Pietro was well enough again to leave the medical area, he and Wanda met with Director Fury and were told that they were to be Avengers, to protect people, to fight those like Ultron that sought destruction. Captain Rogers spoke to them as equals, telling them they were welcome. There was Falcon and War Machine – Sam Wilson and Lieutenant Rhodes – and Vision, who Ultron should have been. They were all welcoming. The Widow assessed them, her gaze was familiar, the weight of it. She talked privately once to Wanda and Wanda was thoughtful afterward.

"She was unmade," Wanda offered to Pietro when he asked about their conversations. "She said she would be a confusion to me because she is true and untrue."

Tony Stark visited sometimes. Both Wanda and Pietro always avoided him.

* * *

They had rooms that were their own. There were cameras in them of course, and microphones. They had always shared a room before and did so again now, one of the rooms provided lay abandoned and was eventually repurposed for someone else.

They did not have belongings to fill space with. They had each other. SHIELD provided bedclothes and Captain Rogers talked to them about what they might need. He had arrived here through time, Wanda told Pietro, this place was as alien to him as it was to them. They ordered clothing and were given toothpaste and hairbrushes. They slept in the same bed, side by side, as they always had done. This at least was home.

Pietro explored the headquarters at high-speed. It was training after all, to gather intel in such a way. He trained with the other Avengers and sometimes watched strange films and television shows with them. He answered their questions haltingly, English was sometimes still heavy on his tongue, and made his own inquiries, to know who he was trusting with his sister's life. Captain Rogers never ordered him to stop.

Pietro felt strongly the gaze of SHIELD on him. It echoed Hydra, which was a comfort in many ways. That had been home too. But here, SHIELD, there were many years of hatred and distrust to slough away, on both sides.

One day, Pietro was exploring another corridor, another series of doors, laboratories, sights that were familiar to him, when he almost ran into someone. They were singing, almost under their breath, he slowed because singing in SHIELD was not something he had encountered before. The someone, a girl with brown hair and glasses, was not dressed as scientist or soldier. But there was she, paging through a thick stack of papers, her fingernails painted dark shiny purple, her teeth biting her bottom lip, her head bobbing slightly as she sang along to the music pouring tinily into her ears from the credit-card sized machine tucked into her pocket. An iPod, yes.

Pietro recognized details, no matter how fast he was running. He had been trained to. Thanks to his gift, he heard and saw clearly at many different tempos.

He sped up again and heard the girl's papers rustle and her singing falter as she looked up. She had not noticed him before, being so wrapped up in her music.

She had noticed him now.

* * *

The image of that girl, her singing, her movements, her absorption, lingered with Pietro. Few things did – Wanda of course, his Hydra lessons, Tony Stark. But the girl did.

He did not ask anyone because despite what Wanda said, he knew how to not draw attention to himself or to what he was concerned with. Wanda knew because he never kept secrets from his twin. She smiled and pressed her hip to his as they sat and ate in their room together. Wanda did not like the communal eating space, Pietro had seen how her brow had creased and her fingers had trembled. Too many people, too much noise only she could hear.

Pietro inhaled the orange jello that he had come to crave and slices of soft buttered bread. It was a luxury; he remembered the bread people had sometimes queued for in Sokovia. He knew that Wanda thought of it too, how deliberate they both were in how they tasted new food offered to them.

Pietro always collected food from the communal area. He had seen the girl there, her hair had been curled once, another time she had been wearing a heavy silvery necklace that had caught the light. She had piled up cartons of food, had talked of Jane and Erik – Dr Jane Foster and Dr Erik Selvig, Pietro assumed. He learned names as he sped through SHIELD's corridors. The girl was not a scientist but she worked for them?

Sometimes she did not collect food, but sat in the communal area and ate a meal by herself. She listened to her music and thumbed through images and text on her phone. She was wrapped up in her own world. She seemed content.

Pietro sped past, brushing a hand through the ends of her hair, like the caress of a breeze. Her eyebrows danced and she looked about before becoming reabsorbed in her previous state, her own world.

Now, eating in their room, Pietro thought of the feel of her curls. He wondered what song she had been singing. His hands itched to steal her iPod, to learn her secrets the way he had been taught. She would not miss it; he would return it within moments.

Wanda hummed, her left hand sketching out shapes in the air, leaving the barest trace of red light in her wake. She was contemplating something. She was doing well, she was finding her comfort, her feet, in this place, this new home. Pietro knew she viewed it as he did, their hands interlinking sometimes without a word spoken between them. They were here because they wanted to be and because, well, Pietro was not a fool. SHIELD did not like the thought of gifted people on this Earth without a leash. That was familiar too.

* * *

Darcy Lewis. That was the girl's name. Darcy Lewis. As Pietro had observed, she was not a scientist or a soldier. She was an intern, an assistant. She ensured that the scientists were fed and operational. She talked many times with Dr Jane Foster; they were close friends, perhaps family. She also met with Maria Hill and spent much time on her phone and computer devices.

The way she was looked at sometimes, Pietro recognized it. He had felt such judgmental weight himself. But why did Darcy?

Wanda mocked him for his keen interest and for keeping his distance. She did not have a stone to throw. They both spent time with the Avengers, yes. Captain Rogers was always open and friendly but he gave them space to themselves too. He did not load them with expectation of great friendship and closeness; he did not squeeze the air from their new lives. Sam Wilson was the same; he also told them if they ever wanted to talk, he knew some people outside of SHIELD, people who knew of battle and loss. There was no judgment in his eyes, there was only knowledge instead.

Still, Wanda and Pietro spent most time together. It was the best thing they knew, it was home, enduring beyond wars and destruction and changes in circumstance. The Avengers did not attempt to disturb this, which was in their favor. But Pietro could feel other gazes that judged, some that plotted.

There were missions and Wanda and Pietro worked best together. They knew how to work with a team also; it had been so at Hydra. They could obey orders, as long as the other was safe. They fought and they pushed themselves and they saved lives. It was a new version of an old order, they settled into it well.

Often, Pietro found himself thinking of Darcy Lewis. He had seen her smile, despite the weight of many gazes. It was a bright thing, and how she talked, often a stream of unfiltered words. Her face was expressive, she did not hide her feelings, in a place that was full of careful walls. Her openness was different to Sam Wilson's and Captain Rogers'. Pietro thought about it often.

* * *

One day, after a mission, he found Wanda with Darcy. They were sat close together, the edges of Wanda's clothing touching Darcy. Darcy was talking and Wanda spoke also now and then. Her fingers were still. Pietro watched, he knew that Wanda knew he was watching; he could tell by the brief quirk of her smile. She did not invite him to join them.

So Pietro watched; at how Darcy did not flinch from Wanda's closeness, how wide her eyes were, how she was interested in Wanda's words and did not take notes, how intently the soldiers watched them both.

"She is close to the surface," Wanda commented later when it was just her and Pietro again, in their room.

She did not reveal the content of her conversation with Darcy though. She told Pietro he should talk to her himself, that she should not be so _slow_. And that she was not a messenger or telephone.

The fact that Wanda was encouraging him spoke loudly. Complete trust was reserved only for each other. The Avengers had earned more trust than most. Apparently Darcy was on that road also. Pietro smiled.

* * *

The Widow flicked him a brief glance that was too knowing, that he was meant to see. But she did not warn or threaten; she did not talk to him about Darcy at all. But she knew enough of his thoughts and plans for the day , that was clear to him, he was used to reading such knowledge on Wanda's face. Pietro wondered what the Widow's many enhancements were.

Darcy was sat by herself, eating lunch. Wanda was talking to the Vision one floor up. Pietro gathered himself a tray of food and sat down opposite Darcy. She looked up, startled but not displeased, in fact her skin pinked. Pietro's lips twitched into a smile. She was wearing a snug wool hat and tarnished metal earrings, her left sleeve was frayed and she had been humming under her breath, her iPod earpieces always present.

"Hello?" Darcy said questioningly as she pulled an earpiece out, revealing a burst of unrecognizable music.

Pietro twirled his fork, enjoying looking at her from such a new close position. "Hello."

"Did you want something?"

She still was not displeased, mostly curious and heavily unsure. Pietro began forking up a thick concoction that smelled as though it could be pork, very spiced.

"To talk to you."

Darcy's eyebrows shot upward, "Me? Jane's got-."

"Not for work," Pietro cut in, his gaze still intent on her, his fork raised between them.

"...Not for work," Darcy repeated slowly. "So..."

"So..." it was Pietro's turn to repeat now, his tone playful, amused.

Darcy smiled uncertainly, "Is this...are you wanting to get to know SHIELD or is this...like, personal?"

Pietro smiled back, finally eating the mouthful of pork – it was pork, he had been right – before answering. He liked the way she had said that, personal.

"I think so."

Darcy was still smiling uncertainly, as though she could not believe he was true. Pietro liked that, it was better than the gazes he received mostly at SHIELD.

"That's not an answer," Darcy told him, folding her arms but her lips were twisting. "Pietro."

She knew his name. Pietro's smile sharpened, "Darcy."

He offered her a forkful of his lunch, a little challenge in his face and gesture, and watched with pleasure as, while her expression of disbelief grew larger, she still wrapped her fingers around the fork, perhaps pointedly away from his touch, and ate the pork. She was still unsure, he could tell, and off-balance but she did not run or refuse the food. There was still curiosity in her too and perhaps a forkful of something stubborn, determined. He liked that.

"Personal," he said abruptly as Darcy swallowed.

She did not cough though reached for her water glass to clear her throat. "You don't know me."

Pietro leaned a little closer, to drop his voice quieter, "Is why I'm here."

Darcy watched him as he sat back and ate. He thought of touching his foot to hers. She was turning over his words and he was enjoying the view he was getting, the closeness. She bit her bottom lip a great deal, she did not like to stay still, she liked green jello.

"Did Wanda-?" Darcy cut herself off abruptly and shook her head. "Okay, this is, I was not expecting this today."

Pietro paused, unusually stilled by a possibility, "Is good?"

Darcy looked at him, then narrowed her eyes with a small smile tugging at her lips, her skin pink again. "Hmmm."

Pietro narrowed his eyes in return, in motion once more, "Hmmm."

They ate lunch, Darcy glancing at Pietro off and on. Pietro looked right back. His foot grazed hers. It was a good feeling. This place was still glass and walls, Tony Stark still visited. There was still judgment and much to not trust. But now, this, was a good feeling.

When they finished, Darcy tipped her head thoughtfully, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. Her music was still playing. Pietro's fingers touched the table, in front of the discarded earpiece.

Darcy looked at him again before sliding the earpiece and its thin white cable towards him. "See what you think."

She hummed throatily. It was a sound that always seemed to linger for Pietro. Her words could have been a challenge or an invitation. Pietro pressed the earpiece to his ear, the cable stretching across the table. There were other gazes upon them now; judgment and others' curiosity. Darcy was still looking at him, still not at all sure, but she was there and so was Pietro.

He listened, in every tempo.

 _-the end_


End file.
